


Clint Barton is an Excellent Final Girl

by Bella_Dahlia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, Avengers Movie Night, Companionable Snark, Domestic Avengers, Fluff without Plot, Gen, M/M, Mockery of 1980s special effects, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, No Angst Just Joy, Pining Tony Stark, Soft Peter Parker, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, spy bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Dahlia/pseuds/Bella_Dahlia
Summary: It's movie night, and our favorite only slightly dysfunctional super hero fam watches Nightmare on Elm Street.That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Steve Rogers, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Clint Barton is an Excellent Final Girl

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a random observation during an innocent movie watching experience turned into this ridiculous thing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Of all the routines, rituals, oddities, and particulars that came with being an Avenger, the Post Battle Movie Night was easily Peter’s favorite. 

Sometimes it happened the same night, if the fight was quick enough. If they were too exhausted, or if someone ended up in medical, they’d wait until the team rebounded. But sooner or later the clapperboard emoji showed up in the group chat and Peter pretty much dropped whatever he was doing to join in. 

One might assume this had to do with the unbridled nerdy joy and hero worship that still infused the very concept of being a member of the Avengers. The truth was Peter loved movies with a love that dare not speak its name and he’d choose movie night over pretty much anything else anyway, regardless of who asked for it.

Also, the Avengers were collectively _hopeless_ and in desperate need of some education. How were they ever gonna understand all of his mid fight witticisms if they weren’t well versed in gloriously trashy pop culture?

And tonight was his night to shine. After weeks of literally anyone else getting to pick the movie, it was Peter’s turn. Saving Captain America from having to take a bomb in the face by finding the convenient OFF switch made him the most practical hero of the hour.

“Right, then, MVP, what’s it gonna be?” Tony tossed a handful of freeze dried raspberries into his mouth before holding the bag out to Peter.

“Nightmare on Elm Street.” Peter grabbed a handful of the berries and punctuated the statement with a firm nod.

“Nightmare on—seriously? A slasher flick?”

“It’s spooky season,” Peter said, as if that explained everything.

Steve got that confused puppy look on his face that only came out when he felt like the modern world had pulled the rug out from under him somehow. “It’s not even mid September.”

“If Christmas can start showing up in freaking July, we can get a few extra weeks of Spooktown,” Peter shot back. 

The microwave dinged behind them. Rhodey pulled out the steaming bag of popcorn and immediately shoved another bag inside, just like he had done for the last fifteen minutes. The full team wasn’t in the Tower tonight, but even with only seven members on deck, they’d chomp down on a small lake’s worth of the stuff. Honestly, Peter was surprised Tony hadn’t just bought the old fashioned popcorn cart they found on ebay a couple of weeks back. 

“Besides,” Peter continued. “Nightmare is one of the greats. Quintessential slasher. Required viewing. How can any of you appreciate the cinematic wonder that is Freddy Versus Jason if we don’t watch the OG?”

From his spot on top of the kitchen island, Clint huffed out a laugh. He sat crossed legged, a mostly empty pot of coffee cupped between his hands like his own personal mug. “Do you ever get the feeling that Parker is just speaking a different language than the rest of us?”

“You say that about anyone on the team that’s not Natasha,” Tony countered.

Clint clutched his coffee closer to his chest, a little more reminiscent now of cuddling a teddy bear than holding a pot. “We’re still not on speaking terms, Stark.”

“Oh sweet Jesus…”

“I almost died!”

“Yeah, because you knowingly flung yourself off of a roof. With no warning. _Again._ ”

“We had an understanding.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustrated ‘how am I the responsible adult in the room?’ expression on his face. Peter had never seen it directed at anyone other than him before, that alone was worth the price of admission.

“I looked over my shoulder, honey,” Clint continued, needling. “I called your name!”

“A drunken karaoke duet of I’ll Be There does not a pact make, Katniss. You want me to catch you, make sure I’m somewhere within eight city blocks before you do your nose dive.”

A hand reached from behind Peter’s shoulder to grab some popcorn. Only one person could sneak up that close to him without triggering his spidey sense; he still had no clue how she managed it.

“It’s gonna be one of _those_ movie nights, huh?” Natasha murmured, her trademark smirk made warm by the light in her eyes. 

Rhodey dumped another bag full of popcorn into yet another bowl. “I dunno why I hang out with you people.” 

“Free food,” said Steve.

“Free weapons,” said Tony.

“Free legs.”

Everyone turned their heads towards the living area, where Bucky sat on one of the couches. He raised up his metal arm and gave a little wave. “Hi, I’m Bucky Barnes, I’m allowed dark appendage related humor.”

Rhodey barked out a laugh, Steve let out a breath he was holding, and Natasha and Clint rolled their eyes at the exact same time like the Murder Twins they were.

“I just think we could do better, y’know, if you want to get your Halloween vibing on. Something legitimately unsettling, like Silence of the Lambs, or Steve’s high school PSA on sex ed.” Tony lingered at the kitchen island, under the pretense of getting just the right amount of salt on his popcorn. Even Peter knew at this point it was a poorly constructed excuse to wait and see where Steve would end up sitting before immediately staking a claim next to him, but he felt sorry for the old man and didn’t call him out on it.

Once Bucky and Natasha intentionally took the spots on either side of their fearless leader, just to serve up identical knowing smirks to Tony when he didn’t make it to the couch fast enough. But instead of fuming about it, he had looked so quietly crushed even cold hearted ex Russian assassins had to take pity on the guy and never pull it again. 

Now Natasha and Bucky had a designated couch they sprawled on with Clint. Clint seemed strangely oblivious to the way both of them would sort of just liquidate into a messy pile of cuddle limbs, or how they would Death Glare anyone else who looked like they might even be considering intrusion. Except Peter, who would occasionally sit on the floor and use one of Natasha’s calves as a headrest. He understood the great honor involved in not being considered a threat to their collective. 

More than once it had struck Peter, the not so small fortune he could make chronicling just how Messy AF(™) the whole boatload of superpowered idiots were, if he were so inclined. A Tell All was a great back up retirement plan.

“This is the one with the hockey mask and machete?” Clint asked as he plopped down. Somehow his coffee pot had magically refilled between his time on the kitchen island and making it to the living room. 

Peter groaned. “That’s Friday the 13th.”

“Butcher Knife Guy?” Natasha suggested mildly.

“That’s Michael from Halloween.”

“Nah, this is Chainsaw Hand Guy,” Tony said.

“Christ on a cracker, that’s Evil Dead, and Ash isn’t even a serial killer!” Peter threw himself down on his back on the floor, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Hopeless, you’re all hopeless.”

“C’mon, Tones, you know Freddy Krueger, you dressed up as him for Halloween junior year,” Rhodey said as he claimed his favorite armchair. “Except you thought it’d be so freakin’ funny to make a glove that didn’t have blades for fingers but—”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, in fact I’m pretty sure that’s just your compulsive lying acting up again, y’know it’s really rude to make up stories about people you care about.” Tony sat down on the couch next to Steve, a little bit closer than was strictly necessary, and held the bowl toward the blonde. “Corn of the popped variety?”

Peter peeled one hand away from his face just enough to peer over towards the billionaire and occasional surrogate parental figure. “What would you use other than blades?”

“Absolutely nothing, my sweet baby seal of a best friend just has the shitty memory that comes from a lifetime of trauma and pain,” Tony replied.

“Sure, the trauma and pain of saving your ass from deeply offended co-eds.”

Peter frowned. “I am only more confused.”

Natasha had her phone out as she slipped down on the couch next to Clint, her thumbs tapping away rapidly. The archer set his coffee pot aside in order to starfish out over her and Bucky’s laps, which they both took in stride. “If photographic evidence exists, I’ll find it.”

“No—No no, no—FRIDAY, start the movie!” Tony threw a handful of popcorn in the redhead’s direction. “Put it away, you know the rules.”

“How we manage to convince anyone that we’re reasonable, responsible adults is sometimes beyond me,” Steve said, shaking his head fondly.

“Shhhh! Less talky, more watchy!” Peter commanded.

They made it a whole three minutes.

“Johnny Depp needs no introduction, Universe!” Clint brayed at the screen.

“Maybe with that fluffball of hair on his head he does,” Natasha replied blandly.

“Who the hell is Johnny Depp?” Bucky asked.

Clint gasped. “Only Captain Jack Sparrow, Disaster Icon of an Age.”

Peter turned and looked at the archer with an appraising eye. “A kindred spirit, I see it.”

“I thought he made a good James Barrie in Finding Neverland,” Steve commented. He dug into the bowl of popcorn in Tony’s lap without looking, and therefore missed the giddy expression on the billionaire’s face that pretty much everyone else in the room caught.

“Edward Scissorhands,” Rhodey declared, as if it were the final word on the matter. Bucky rubbed a hand against his forehead, silently mouthing _scissorhands?_ with an alarmed expression on his face.

“You’re all a bunch of heathens, if we’re discussing Depp films, it’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas or bust,” Tony said through his crunching.

Natasha quirked a brow. “I counter with Cry Baby.”

“Ooo, well, shit, there’s that.”

Peter spun around on his spot on the floor to face them all. “Of course, you’re all ignoring the fact that Johnny Depp is kinda problematic AF, you know that right?” He waited until he felt every adult in the room squirm in their uncomfortableness (except for Barnes, the cutie, who was trying to ask Clint what A F stood in sign language as if Peter wouldn’t notice) to add: “Which we can acknowledge without having to remove his filmography entirely from our lives, geez, I’m the one that picked this movie, you think I didn’t know I’d be watching Ickle Baby Depp?”

“Anyone got something heavier than popcorn to throw at the kid?” Rhodey asked.

“If you’d done more watchy and less talky, we wouldn’t be here,” Peter shot back.

Rhodey shook his head, but didn’t quite hide the smile on his face. “I miss when you were too geeked out about being here to think of being mouthy. Of all of Tony’s crap qualities to pick up on, it had to be mouthy.”

Clint snorted. “Please, the kid wasn’t mouthy till he started hanging out with Steve.”

Steve put on his best ‘who me?’ expression, the one normally reserved for when Nick Fury accused him of doing something completely brash and utterly stupid. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Spangles, you’re convincing absolutely no one with that, you know that right?” Tony asked.

“Maybe not any of you, but the world at large is still wrapped around his patriotic pinky,” Bucky muttered. “Punk.”

From the other couch Steve grinned warmly. “Prick.”

“Language!” Chorused every Avenger except Peter. He looked around all of them in confusion as they fell into various snorts and guffaws, and he realized he was going to need way more sugar to deal with them all in this rare form.

“Adult inside jokes are wwweeeiirdd.”

The first hour of the movie passed with, well, not less commentary, exactly, but it was all of the expected variety. Tony kept complaining about the quality of the special effects, until Steve commented on how old fashioned clumsy effects reminded him of the movies he watched growing up. After that, the movie suddenly had Rustic Charm. Bucky pointed out the inaccuracies of the blood in the famous Dying Girl On The Ceiling scene, with Natasha helpfully supplying to the rest of the team what _would_ happen with a stomach wound like that, and Rhodey promptly declared her The Most Disturbing Avenger.

They all conceded the clear body bag was, in fact, fucking creepy, which is exactly why it would never exist in real life.

“Just stop going to sleep,” Clint whined, punctuated by throwing popcorn directly at the screen. A larger kernel pinged against the glass right where one of Nancy’s eyes was visible.

“That’s hilarious, coming from the guy that can’t be bothered to get out of bed before noon more often than not,” Bucky said, under his breath except not really.

Clint, who had his purple socked feet resting across the super soldier’s lap, poked Bucky’s shoulder aggressively with his cloth covered toes. “I have to make up for all those other times where I ignore sleep entirely, asshat.”

Peter, who was on his third Cherry Vanilla Coke and practically vibrating out of his skin on the floor, let out a slightly too loud laugh. “Sleep deprivation is all fun and games until it’s 79 hours in and you start tasting feelings: anxiety tastes like day old everything bagels and stress tastes like tuna fish sandwiches with too much mayo.” He stopped bouncing when he realized he was being stared at. “I’m fine.”

“Frustration tastes like grapefruit,” Tony agreed after a moment. 

“Relief tastes like pizza,” Clint said.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but a slight smile betrayed him. “Everything good tastes like pizza to you.”

Clint poked Bucky’s chin this time, purple clad toes tapping on his jaw. “Except you, baby,” he said with a sleazy wink. 

“Really, Rogers, you’re just gonna sit on the sidelines while that circus freak corrupts your best bucko?” Tony asked.

Steve laughed. “Ain’t nothing Clint can say that would beat the 107th’s terrible influence on us.”

Tony looked at the blonde appraisingly. “Us? What do you mean with this ‘us’, where exactly do you hide your down and dirty side, next to your Star Spangled pajamas?” He dug into the nearly empty bowl that now sat between him and Steve, scooping up a handful of popcorn. Steve met the look with an easy grin, reaching out to pluck several kernels directly out of Tony’s hand.

“Who said I ever bother with pajamas?” 

The sound of Tony Stark, genius billionaire extraordinaire, dying a slow and sad death choking on popcorn and innuendo, was simply too much.

“My delicate underage noise collectors!” Peter cried, slapping his hands over the offended earholes. 

“Steve, when did Nat teach you Death by Asperating Popcorn, I thought that was a Back Widow signature?” Rhodey asked, leaning over to claim the bowl that Tony had just abandoned on the coffee table. Natasha responded to his cheeky grin by sticking her tongue out at him, because when she wasn’t being the world’s most deadliest spy, she was actually a child.

She stood from her couch, unceremoniously dumping Clint’s head from her lap and onto the couch cushions, and wandered to the kitchen. “Staying awake is just avoiding the problem,” she said over her shoulder.

Clint hauled himself into an upright position on the couch to look back towards her, and started making insistent grabby hands motions when the redhead held up a bottle of beer for him to see. “You give over to the Caffeine Gods long enough to come up with a plan of attack,” he explained.

“A plan like jumping off a building without telling anyone about it first?” Tony asked, his voice still a little hoarse. Natasha held up a different beer in his direction and he gave it the thumbs up as he stifled another cough.

“To be fair to Clint, he’s not the only one that does that,” Bucky responded, shooting a pointed look in Steve’s direction.

Steve just sighed. “It was one time.”

Natasha raised a single brow. “Marrakesh?”

“...It was two times.”

Natasha returned to the living area with her arms laden with bottles, handing out different varieties of beer to each of her teammates—excluding Peter, who got a bottle of water and a stern look as she mouthed _No more sugar_. Impervious to his very best pouting, she slipped back down on her end of the couch, tucking her feet underneath her.

“He’s the man with the plan, he jumps off a building, I know he’s got this,” Rhodey said in way of support. It earned him one of Steve’s dazzling, aw shucks smiles and a clink of beer bottle necks that Peter recognized as a recognition of Adult Solidarity.

A beer bottle cap sailed across the room, pinging Rhodey in the center of his forehead. 

“Christ, Barton, the hell?”

“How come when Cap does it, it’s bold and decisive, and when I do it, I’m a reckless idiot?” Clint pouted. 

Peter nodded in commiseration, pulling an emergency pack of Twizzlers from under the couch. He had snacks stashed all over the living room for when the team inevitably attempted to cut him off. “I feel that on such a personal level, man.”

“You’re seventeen, Parker, you know exactly why everyone calls you a reckless idiot,” Bucky pointed out.

Peter echoed his earlier nod. “Yeah… Yeah.”

Tony, finally having recovered enough dignity to be able to once again look at anyone with scrutiny, eyed up both Steve and Clint alike. “Alright, Locksley, wanna bring honor to your house? How would you defeat the Monster of the Week; call it, Clint.”

After taking a pull on his beer, Clint untangled himself from Bucky’s lap and moved to perch on the back of the couch, his feet digging into the cushions as he pitched his weight forward, his forearms resting on his knees. It was the same position he got into whenever they played Mariokart; at least, before Tony had banned them from playing.

To be fair, the last time they played ended with the living room having an unintentional skylight, a couch going through the bay window, and approximately eighteen thousand dollars worth of damage to cabinetry, so Peter figured a mandatory break wasn’t out of line.

“We have to buy time in order to lay in a plan of attack. Coffee pots, in every room, the stronger, the better.” Clint’s voice took on a different pitch, forceful and self assured, and oh dear God was he actually doing a Captain America impersonation? “Krueger’s clearly in charge of dreamland, so we gotta get him playing on our field. Pull ‘im out, knock ‘im down.”

Steve’s face had a slightly pinched look to it. “Do I really sound like that?”

Bucky shot him a sympathetic look. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Stevie.”

“What’re you gonna do, grab him by the scruff and yank him over?” Rhodey scoffed. 

On the screen, Nancy Thompson woke up from her sleep trial, grey streaks in her hair and Freddy Kreuger’s battered hat in her hands.

Rhodey blinked. “Okay, so, yeah.”

“Ha!” Clint pumped a triumphant fist in the air. “Phase One is proven sound, which means we move on to Phase Two.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Die of a heart attack brought on by overdosing on caffeine?”

“You set up a number of increasingly elaborate death traps in the real world, so that when you yank Tall, Dark, and Pox Marked in, you can shoot, stab, and burn him to death,” Clint replied, his voice pointed. “That’s an ‘and’ situation, I stress, not an ‘or’.”

“That’s it? That’s your Tactical Genius?” Tony asked. “Turn the grand finale into one long Itchy and Scratchy cartoon?”

“It’s nice to know you all will have thoughtful leadership when I retire,” Steve commented, grinning.

Clint scowled. “Fuck—”

Peter gasped theatrically and threw his hands over his ears again.

“— _Screw_ you all, I am excellent at tactics.” He pointed to the television screen, where Nancy Thompson was chugging coffee and explaining a plan remarkably similar to what he had just announced. “She agrees with me!”

Rhodey looked unimpressed. “Sure, because Sixteen and Sleep Deprived is really the pinnacle of advanced strategy.”

“Uh, this is a Horror Movie, that is absolutely the pinnacle of advanced strategy,” Peter pointed out. 

On the screen, Nancy’s mom yanked a coffee pot off of her nightstand, leading Clint to pout, “Aw, coffee, no!”

Bucky, who had been quietly demolishing his beer, suddenly choked. “Did she—did she just pull a second coffee pot from under her bed?” he asked, incredulous.

“A second, already on, already full coffee pot,” Rhodey confirmed. Whether he was trying not to laugh or groan was up for debate.

Natasha stared at the screen, eyes ever so slightly narrowed. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Glasgow, 2010,” Clint said, beaming. “My finest hour. Seriously, this girl is pretty much my soulmate, my life bond; sorry Bucky-bear, I got a new squeeze, and she’s about to fight a dream demon with coffee and sleep deprived guile.”

“How ever will I go on? Replaced by a fictional sixteen year old girl from 1984?” Bucky deadpanned. He leaned forward on the couch, looking past Clint to Natasha, and gave her a questioning eyebrow.

“Oh no, no thank you. I try to learn from my past.”

“So, wait, back up, let me get this straight.” Tony sat forward on the couch, waiting until he was sure he had everyone else’s attention. “Is the culmination of this evening’s festivities figuring out that of all of us, Clint Feather Plucking Barton would make the best Last Girl Standing?”

Clint’s shit eating grin was a sight to behold. “I’m a survivor. I’m not gonna give up. I’m not gonna stop. I keep on surviving.”

“That’s it, no more karaoke nights, je refuse.”

Peter, after having quietly shoved both arms elbow deep into an overstuffed ottoman, retrieved his fourth Cherry Vanilla Coke and cracked it open with a satisfying hiss. “I can’t wait to figure out which one of you is Laurie Strode.”


End file.
